Issei ‹一生›
by Kunshi Sekijou
Summary: Drabbles & one shots collection. His life composed on paper, blown to disarray by the wind. Yanagi-centric.
1. Fog

**NOTES: **Extra drabble to "Spring Tree Above the Village." Strangeness.

**Originally posted on LJ.**

* * *

**Fog**

_"Life is like a train ride." Slender fingers touched the window glass. Their owner looked outside to the fresh autumn day. The sky cloudless and endlessly blue. The sun bright and hovering high above. "A very long train ride. It's sunny now, but who knows what's going to happen in another 30 miles? Maybe we'll get rain. Maybe even snow." _

_The bluenet turned and sent a sunny smile in his direction. Funny how he didn't remember he, himself, being there when his friend spoke those words. But the other was there, in his memory. It was as if a photograph had been taken and someone had edited him out with Photoshop. In this case, maybe he was the one to edit himself out of this particular memory._

_"Life is like a train ride." Then the other paused and laughed. "Actually, I _wish_ life _was_ as simple as a train ride. Then you'd know clearly where you're going, right?"_

His memory ended there. Like the end of a video clip, his mind stopped playing that certain day's events at that certain point. Though, he couldn't figure out why he cut the memory off there.

Now, returning to the present, he found himself sitting with his elbow propped up against the window sill, his curled fingers supporting his chin. He stared out the train.

Life is like a train ride, his companion had said. The companion he took a long and meaningful journey with a year ago.

If life was like a train ride, what if he couldn't see anything outside the window? A thick fog shrouded everything, every place the train ran past, in white density.

It was not like the segments of sunshine and segments of rainfall that lasted only over the span of a few miles. This fog lasted, stretching out for miles and miles. It didn't seem like it would end soon. It didn't seem like it was going away.

If life truly was like a train ride his companion had said, then did this obscurity he faced now apply to the part of his life he left untouched since that certain trip, or was it merely a manifestation of his unknown future?


	2. Triangle

**NOTES: **Strangeness. Analytical conversation. Lurking pairings.

**Originally posted on LJ.**

* * *

**Triangle**

"So, to review, define each triangle using you own words. Equilateral."

"The distance between each point is the same for all points."

"In your _own_ words, Akaya."

"Okay, okay. Don't look so scary, Yanagi-senpai." He cleared his throat. "All sides are the same length and all angles measure the same."

A nod. "Isosceles."

"...Uh... Two sides are the same length..."

"And two angles are of the same measurement."

He scratched his head. "Oh, right... Heh heh..."

"Next is scalene."

"That one I know! It's when all the sides and angles are messed up and unequal!"

Another nod. "That would suffice. Now, look at problem number 23, triangle GSR. How would you define this triangle?"

"It's an scalene triangle!" He blurted out without hesitation.

"Akaya, look at the problem on the paper instead of my face before you answer. Try again."

He glared at the polygon. "...It's...an equilateral triangle?"

"Correct."

His head shot up then. "The book is wrong, Yanagi-senpai! There is no way triangle GSR is an equilateral triangle!"

* * *

**END NOTES:**

Anyways, this is the geometric foundation for the relationship of a certain trio from Akaya's view and Yanagi's view...  
So, care to guess what triangle GSR stands for? XD


	3. Pieces

**NOTES:** Yukimura x Yanagi. _Oyaji_-Yukimura and _Oyaji-_Yanagi.

**Originally posted on LJ.**

* * *

**Pieces**

Lately, he noticed the increasing amounts of hair he was losing here and there as light wrinkles spread their roots in the skin between his brows and at the corners of his eyes.

He stared into the bathroom mirror before him. This one, he traced with a fingertip, had been a light mark just yesterday.

Then, another face appeared in the reflection. Seiichi's body leaned up against his from behind. His face next to his. His lips next to his ear.

"I love you to pieces." The other whispered his daily salutation. Lately, it became Seiichi's way of starting the day.

Afterwards, his partner plucked a fallen grayed strand from his shoulder with slender fingers and watched regretfully as it descended into the wastebasket.

"I love you to pieces." He declared again.

This time, bidding farewell to pieces of the past piling up in the wastebasket.


	4. Replacement Proposal

**NOTES: **Sanada x Yanagi. Pseudo Sanada x Yukimura. One-sided Inui x Yanagi. College timeline. Mental turmoils. Hints of lime. ANGST. Sanada POV. Faulty language and word use.

Yukimura doesn't actually make an appearance in this fic. Neither does Inui.

**Originally posted on LJ.**

* * *

**Replacement Proposal**

_He was sick._

_He knew he was. Some sort of sickness had invaded his mind and contaminated his dreams._

_Sanada dreamed of that certain cerulean-haired boy whose image his mind refused to discard even when unconscious. In his dreams, he was doing something to the other. That something was inappropriate between people of their gender. That something was detrimental to the other's fragile body._

_In his dream, he attained physical satisfaction._

_Yet, the sticky discomfort he awoke to mocked and humiliated him._

_..._

Everyone eagerly made sacrifices for independence.

Ironically, in the end, however, some would come to question whether it had really been worthwhile in the first place.

Upon his entrance to college, Sanada proposed to leave home like his brother before him, for the contribution it would make to his independence as a man. Both his father and grandfather agreed without argument.

Sanada invited Renji to live with him.

Because he was the only one he could ask. He was the only one attending the same college.

Everyone else traveled elsewhere. Everyone else, including their cerulean-haired friend.

The former Rikkai Regulars who once stuck together in a tight pack of alliance now dissipated.

Everyone traveled a different path. Everyone sought a different destination. Everyone, including their cerulean-haired friend.

To him, bidding farewell to that boy was like bidding a dream farewell. Dream always appeared brightest and most magnificent when one waved them goodbye.

Only he and Renji remained together. Only they had the same destination.

For some reason, the idea calmed his disappointment, his regret of being unable to walk beside the one he wanted to follow.

...

Insomnia was a visitor who never made appointments for rendezvous.

Introduced by fortune, he received insomnia as his guest one night.

After endless hours of tossing and turning, he finally decided to stay up to begin the paper his history professor assigned.

Full-time college students valued precious sleep time. Many did not have enough idle time for it. Ironically, those who did have time, chose to bed worry and anxiety instead.

After a page of scribbles and scratches, he noticed his thirst and went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.

The door to Renji's room stood ajar when he passed it.

He heard heavy panting accompanying the tortured squeaks from the springs of a cheap mattress. He saw the other's body tremble violently as if in convulsion. Concerned, he entered the room.

"Renji..." Sanada began. He froze when he realized what the other was doing.

His eyes widened.

The other slammed his eyes shut so forcefully that he made deep indentations between his brows. He watched white serpents of passion slither down the other's hand as endearment escaped the other's lips, "Sadaharu..."

Then, the other awoke from his trance, his eyes opening to stare directly into his surprised ones.

Disgust distorted his face. Anger retrieved his voice. "Have you no shame?"

The other's calm and apathy proved his words to be a harmless attack. Renji sat up slowly, adjusting his sleep pants. Pulling a tissue from a box beside his bed, he answered lazily. "Everyone has secrets..."

The contemptuous gleam in his amber eyes dared him to deny such statement. That look made him gulp down the protest at the tip of his tongue.

"Don't tell me you don't have your own sick fantasies."

...

If insomnia had a twin, it would be change.

Change, like insomnia, many times arrived unannounced.

It was unfortunate that some people could not adapt to its presence promptly.

After that incident, he dreamed the same dreams of that certain cerulean-haired boy. Yet, those dreams evolved into something else once that spring of his prized memories dried up and became a barren wasteland.

In his dream, he did not attain physical satisfaction.

Yet, the same state of sticky discomfort remained unchanged when he awoke in the morning.

Maybe illusions no longer satisfied his mind; it could now tell the difference between dream and reality.

...

_If Renji could, then why couldn't he?_

_..._

If many things could be accomplished individually, why did people still form alliances and partnerships?

Every history textbook proved, no great civilization consisted of a single man.

At first, he chose to disregard the other's twisted habit.

Then, he remembered, he was sick. He was sick, mentally.

His body sought physical gratification. But self-gratification could not satisfy his mind.

The liquid heat of his release dripping from his hand matched the stickiness he awoke to in the mornings after his dreams.

As fulfilling as release felt, it was still empty.

What he really desired was not the feel of his own heat, but the warmth of another.

Isolation could only be cured with company.

"You want to forget the one from your past." It wasn't a question. It was an offer he made, as awkward as it sounded. Its unapparent presentation protected his pride and dignity.

He could not bring himself to as low as to demanding sex.

But he knew the other would understand. The other always did. He was sharp.

The other looked at him with the same calm and indifferent face, as if he had expected such a proposal all along.

Nothing escaped his calculations and expectations. "In truth, that is only your secondary intention. Your true intention... You must also want to forget a certain someone from your past, from _our_ past."

He sprung up like a threatened cat. "That is not-...!"

Renji cut him off. "It is fine. You will be a replacement to me, and in return, I will serve as a replacement for you. That way, both of us are satisfied."

...

It seemed amazing how deprivation and neglect could generate a positive product.

The fountain he stored his memories of that certain cerulean-haired boy dried up.

In its place, a single memory of his youth sprouted until it grew to a fertile forest, something he had no intention of constructing.

It appeared as if his dreams went through some sort of purification. Those pointless wet dreams that he had been getting before, became but innocent remembrances and sepia flashbacks of his neglected past, of his childhood with Renji before the other had moved away to Tokyo. They included mellow moments he shared with the other through junior high and beyond that only resulted in the fortifying of their relationship foundation.

Those were the memories that were deprived his attention when his mind refused to forsaken the image of that cerulean-haired boy even only momentarily.

He did not attain physical satisfaction from these new memories, but his mind received a small measure of peace.

When he regained consciousness, there was no sticky discomfort that often resulted from his dreams from before.

And he thought back to the other's accusation, to how he, too, used him as a replacement for another.

If this was so, then why didn't his perverted dreams of that certain cerulean-haired boy merely be replaced with perverted dreams of the other?

...

Success became the magnifying glass for failure.

His academic achievements accentuated the decline in his relationship with the other.

If initiating the co-beneficiary relationship was much like falling into an abyss, then he was nearing the end of the pit. Or so, he thought.

At the height of their intimacy, his heard the other murmur another name.

"...Sadaharu..."

That name numbed him, destroying the bliss he usually experienced in his release. His sight could only focus on the erratic rises and falls of his roommate's chest as the other pumped oxygen back into his lungs.

"You were thinking of him again." What was meant to be discharged into their conversation as a statement became an accusation instead.

A pause. "Was that not the reason we engaged in such an activity in the first place?"

The other's aloofness fueled his irritation. "Have you no shame?"

Renji turned to him, unmoved. "What about you? What does that make you then? Don't tell me that the whole time you were doing such a thing with me, you were not thinking of someone else."

"…"

"...You are a replacement to me... Just like I am a replacement to you..." Sarcasm lifted one lip corner. "I thought we agreed on this already."

He wanted to yell, to argue with him. _"No, that's not why I engaged in such an activity with you in the first place!" _

But he doesn't say anything. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't say anything.

He did not know whether his silence meant that he agreed with the other, or he was just too upset to voice his dissatisfaction.

Renji must have assumed the former. He leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Of course, it will be fine if _you_ want to call out that certain name when we do this."

His fists balled as if he was strangling Renji's words in his palms. Climbing out of bed, he snatched his clothes up from the floor. He stomped out of the room because he knew what his fists were capable of doing if he didn't.

He did not want to lose a battle against his temper.

...

He awakes.

There is no one in bed with him. It made last night seem like a passing dream.

...

Aesthetic practices were only privileges, luxuries, granted to students in small blocks of leisure time on the weekends.

It was only when he found the other in a quiet corner in the living room conducting tea ceremony that he remembered it was the weekend.

Sanada looked at the formal, proper Renji before him. He acted as if nothing happened the previous night. He acted as if he was still that Renji from junior high: the Renji that he thought he knew.

The quiet Renji. The reasonable Renji. The proper Renji.

Then, their relationship happened.

The Renji from the past now becomes the Renji now.

The stranger.

Rage stirred up a commotion in his gut. _'This is not you! You're fake.'_

He rushed over to that once undisturbed, quiet corner, plowing through and knocking over the other's setup like a madman.

"You're a liar! You're a fake!"

Out of control, he lunged at his roommate and pressed him to the floor.

He pulled at the tidy folds and creases of Renji's dark kimono to reveal the sunlight-deprived pale flesh beneath. The fresh red marks upon the smooth skin served as the only evidence that proved yesterday's existence; last night wasn't just another dream.

Though, even without proof, he knows that last night was not a dream, for he had never had perverted dreams of the other. It was only in reality, only during their activity that the scenes playing before him are sick and perverted.

"You are not the Renji I know."

The other replied to his accusation with a mere curve of lips.

He could almost say that it looked sad. Almost.

Renji did not struggle, did not push him off. He just laid there.

"Then... who is the Renji you know? Maybe you don't even know who Renji is." The other peered up at him in a nonchalant manner through the crescent cracks of his eyes. "Just like, I do not know who you really are, either."

Renji's hand reached out unhurriedly to seal his vision in darkness. "It is ironic that you cannot see the real me, while all along you have been using your eyes to look at the one I was to replace."

Through the darkness Renji creates with his hands covering his eyes, he sees a door.

It was the structure he saw often when he walked by the other's room that indicated to him of the other's rejection for physical contact that day. The other was busy with school work.

Behind the door, was the other at his best, in the best qualities he remembers admiring about him: patient, studious, diligent.

He had not seen such a sight of the other ever since college, ever since they chose to major different subjects, ever since they stopped studying together.

...

Sanada didn't dream.

Because he didn't sleep.

_"You are but a replacement to me... Just like I am but a replacement to you."_

Renji words combined into a spell. That spell cursed him with insomnia.

So, to smother the irksome voice in his mind, he diverted his attention to his school work.

Sometimes, he gets so tired that he falls asleep right on his study table.

He was used to waking up upon the pillow of books atop his desk.

As he scurries to gather up his books during those mornings, he doesn't have time to think about the dreams he had the previous night.

In his fatigue and rush, he could barely concentrate enough to recall if he even had any.

...

Winter approached.

All the trees and shrubs trembled, losing their vibrant-colored leaves upon feeling the chilly presence.

It was almost final exams week.

He spends the majority of his time in the library, burying his face in books and papers and sitting at a corner table, isolated from all the other students.

After that day, he tried to spend as little time as possible at the apartment.

Because he was in poverty of speech. Because he was in poverty of actions.

He was only in poverty when he faced the other.

Finally, after hours of hovering over his work, he looked up from the text he highlighted to rest his eyes.

He spotted a familiar figure afar. He didn't know whether it was the distance that made his figure appear more delicate than usual or whether it had been the overwhelming combination of school work, sleep deprivation, and nutritional imbalance.

He studied the other's serious face, as if studying an important component in his textbook. The other, deeply absorbed in his own studies, took no notice of him.

He gets the illusion that they were back to the old times when they sat together, one across another, studying together.

It almost resembled the past, minus the distance.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw the other rise from his seat. The other would arrange for his departure, he assumed. Most of the other students had already left after dark.

Yet, the other did not collect the materials still lying on the table. He realized, then, the other was not yet leaving.

He rose to pursue the other.

Upon entering the public bathroom, his eyes immediately found his companion at the sink meticulously washing his hands.

When the other hesitated, seeing his reflection in the mirror, he takes the opportunity to pull him by his wrist into a stall, locking the door behind them.

The other was still as calm as always. He wondered what he has to do to break through the icy thickness of his façade.

Opening his mouth to speak, Renji's voice sounded mirthless. "Let go."

Like him, the other hated to be interrupted during his studies. His insides stirred impatiently in excitement when familiarity moved him.

He recognized this Renji.

Liberated from his previous discontent, he pressed him up against the wall and sealed the lips only capable of muttering freezing words.

Renji struggled, but still could not free himself.

Eventually, he pulled away. A glimpse at fatigue's shadow under his companion's eyes elicited some feelings of guilt. But he doesn't let go.

"You will not choose a more appropriate time for this, will you?" Completely surrendering his struggles, Renji turned away in displeasure. "Make it quick."

Having hypothesized that it was highly unlikely someone would intrude at this time perhaps became the other's only reason for allowing him to proceed.

He gave him no time to fantasize, no time to prepare, no time to become the replacement he agreed upon becoming. He quickly ripped away the fabric that concealed his skin.

As he watched the other bite back his moans stubbornly, he only tightened his grip on the other's hips and quickened his rhythm.

...

_This ends now. Today._

_..._

The final exams ended as unexpectedly as they started.

Not only the final exams, actually. The entire first semester of college ended as unexpectedly as it started.

He became the first one to arrive back at their apartment after his own exams.

The strange feeling of light relief was something he was unfamiliar and unaccustomed to.

Thinking no more, he entered the kitchen to make dinner preparations.

The beat of his knife on the wooden cutting board is interrupted by the _thud_ from the front door. He exited the kitchen to watch Renji making his way to his room lethargically.

Almost automatically, his feet propelled him forward as he followed Renji to his room.

Renji fell asleep the moment he collapsed onto his bed. Being thoughtful, he covered him with a blanket.

As he watched his companion's sleeping face, he mused: This was the true Renji. Even though it was not the Renji he came to know after all these years.

College made him more delicate, more vulnerable from the impact of its heavy duties and responsibilities.

While families and friends supported their invincibility in junior high and high school, college shattered their scrupulously assembled might.

They were but average college students struggling to adapt to another transition in life after having separated from the support systems they came to know all this time.

As if mesmerized by the other's tranquil face, he sank down carefully on the bed beside the other.

"I don't care about the person you were from yesterday. I don't care about the person you were from years ago." He began solemnly, voice as hushed as a faint whisper. "If you claim that I do not know you all this time, then let me meet you again. And I shall introduce myself to you again."

He paused, as if waiting for the other's approval. The approval that would not come because deep slumber deafened the other.

One mouth corner lifted in a half-smile of self-mockery.

"So, will you introduce me to yourself, to Yanagi Renji? Will you only let me see Yanagi Renji, and not anyone but Yanagi Renji? And I will be Sanada Genichirou. I will not be anyone but myself."

A pause, still.

Silence, still.

Then, a sigh. Disappointment released through exhalation.

He decided to allow his monologue to serve as practice, something that he needed greatly because his lack in proper communication skills.

Meanwhile, he reached out to take the other's hand in his. It was the first time he held the other's hand.

It gave him the illusion that they were confidants, instead of strangers whose relationship was built upon mutual physical satisfaction.

* * *

**END NOTES:**

This fic is the byproduct of my disappointment after reading another fanfic, "Secret Window." It's a Chinese PoT fic. Similarly, that was also a "replacement" fic. But, the ending was less optimistic. I really wanted to make up for it.

Can you tell how much I believe in the psychology of dreams based on this piece?

**Special Recommendation:** "Faultlines," a Tezuka x Oishi fanfic. It is on a website called "Destiny Interrupted." And yes, I was inspired by that fic to continue this fic.


	5. Kunshi: Harmony

**NOTES: **Sanada x Yanagi. AU. Ancient Japan, around the Edo period. Emotionally superior and physically inferior Yanagi. Over-protective Sanada. Light comic relief(?) Yukimura.

**Dedicated to all tea lovers~**

**WARNINGS: **Somewhat of a bland beginning. EXTENSIVE references to the Japanese tea ceremony. Heavy use of allusions and symbols.

**Originally posted on LJ. DISCONTINUED PIECE.**

* * *

**Kunshi: Harmony**

**~和~**

The cicadas' first aubade of the day awoke him at the break of dawn.

He sat up slowly on his futon. He remained in a cross-legged position, almost like he posed for meditation.

The cicadas' song that awakened his body before now shuffled through his foggy mind, searching for important reminders.

Today is Yanagi Renji's seventeenth birthday.

Morning would be an especially busy time.

"Yanagi-sama." A servant's call interrupted his meditation.

He rose to answer the door.

Sliding open the _shoji _door (1) that led to his room from the veranda, he received the package wrapped in sturdy brown paper from his servant's hands. It was a package from his sister, whose marriage carried her off to a distant land.

After dismissing his servant, he chose to seat himself at the edge of the veranda. He placed the package, slightly smaller than a sitting cushion_, _in his lap as his fingers went to undo the hemp ties holding it together.

There were two items he unwrapped. One, a neatly folded letter of rice paper and two, a brand new kimono made of dark, forest green silk. When he removed the letter, the embroidery at the bottom hem in the front of the kimono revealed itself to him. A single white lotus flower about the size of his palm blossomed in amid the green. His fingertips stroke at his sister's delicate needlework, at the travail threaded in each stitch.

Setting the package aside, he unfolded the letter. Like the embroidery that delivered his sister's consideration, every word clearly conveyed his sister's care for him. She wished him a happy birthday. She inquired about his health, about the tea practice he inherited from their father. Finally, she ended the letter with a mere two lines insufficiently disclosing her situation to him.

"_Summer here in the south is especially merciless. Though, I quite enjoy the scent of cacao the wind has carried to us from a nearby tea plantation." _(2)

He smiled. This was the woman who cared for him in their mother's absence. This was the woman who comforted him after their father followed their mother to the afterworld. Her presence which possessed the letter so heavily was like his first cup of tea in the morning. It energized him, warmed his insides. He thought it almost healed the sequela that resulted from his congenital heart defect. Almost.

Nevertheless, it strengthened his resolve to welcome the new day.

…

He begins his day with a cleansing ritual in the _furoba_ (3)_. _The washcloth's rough texture scrubs yesterday's residues off his skin. He carefully avoided the healing scab below his left collarbone, his mind also steering clear of the memory associated with this wound.

Afterwards, dressed in his new kimono, he strolled along the narrow verandato arrive at his tea room.

His servants already completed the preparations for the early morning tea ceremony. The tea setup laid out on the tatami floor became a map he looked down upon. The fresh water from the mountain springs the servants retrieved only yesterday heated and kept warm in the _chanoyugama_ (4) sitting on top of the portable brazier_._

Confirming that the tea utensils stationed themselves in the proper positions in the proper alignment, Renji diverted his attention to a certain corner of the room.

Arriving before the _tokonoma _(5)_,_ he first picked up the scroll he set there yesterday. Unrolling it, he revealed the two kanji characters the calligraphy brush painted on the white paper in black ink.

"_Kunshi _(6)_."_ It read. "Gentleman."

Someone deemed him to be so. He could still remember the day that certain youth had presented him with this as the product of his strenuous calligraphy practice. He also remembered the other's look of wobbling determination as embarrassment colored his cheeks when he made his confession to him.

With hands trembling slightly with anticipation and nostalgia, he hung the calligraphy scroll on the wall.

Kneeling down, he examined the vase with a narrow mouth. Its color represented the shiny morning dew that reflected and lightened the green of the lily pad on which it rested. Someone else handcrafted this; an inexperienced potter. Areas of unevenness and imperfection scattered throughout the pottery. Yet, the glaze of dedication and effort emitted a light that outshined experienced craftsmanship. In his eyes, it was as perfect as the calligraphy scroll.

He carefully inserted a single stem of a blossomed white chrysanthemum he recovered from his garden earlier into the mouth of the vase.

There, he finalized the preparations of his morning tea ceremony.

He rooted himself near the guest entrance to the tea room to meditate, waiting patiently for the arrival of his guests.

Not long after, the rustling of grass in the garden announced the arrival of his guests. The trickling of water at the _tsukubai _(7)sounded the purification process preparing their entrance.

Eventually, they leave their footwear and enter the tight space crawling through the _nijiriguchi _(8). The act humbles them, disregarding their status, and prepares their presence as an equal to all who sit inside.

He greeted his first guest. "Good morning, Seiichi."

The bluenet who entered beamed at him. "Good morning, indeed. Happy birthday, Renji."

"Thank you." A modest smile demonstrated his gratitude to his friend.

Then, Seiichi crept up to the _tokonoma _and contributed to the vase, a single stem of flower he picked from the pond of his own garden—a blossomed white lotus.

He allowed himself to admire the other's work before greeting his next guest.

"Good morning, Genichirou."

"Aa. Happy birthday, Renji." Unlike Seiichi, Genichirou hardly fit a smile into the grim line between his lips. It was the image he established as a warlord of solid character, his expression invariably serious and stern.

Yet, as they looked at each other now, he noticed the subtle tenderness the other dedicated to him in his gaze. The youth from his memory had contributed the same gaze to him in his confession.

"Thank you."

The young warlord moved to the _tokonoma _to make his contribution as well. The stick of young bamboo he lowered into the mouth of the vase completed the display (9). Beside him, Seiichi nudged at Genichirou's arm with his elbow and pointed at the calligraphy hanging on the wall.

Seiichi winked. Genichirou glared, fighting the turbulence of blood rushing to his face.

Finally, when Renji positioned himself sitting on his knees before the tea setup, the two joined him too. Seiichi and Genichirou seated themselves beside one another, their eyes clearly capturing their host's serene side profile as he initiated the morning tea ceremony.

After cleansing the black ceramic tea bowl and the bamboo tea whisk, he proceeded to uncover the _natsume _(10)_ . _Taking the bamboo tea scoop, he delivered two scoops of the vibrant green powder into the warm tea bowl. He added the water heated to specific warmth and whisked the mixture.

Seiichi picked up the final concoction he set on the floor and paused to sniff the product's aroma. He drank, sipping thrice. He then placed the bowl down before Genichirou.

His friend accepted the bowl, turning it once on the flat of his palm and sipped the tea ceremoniously.

The bowl of matcha finally returned to its maker, who drank the remains of the green concoction down to the final drop. At the cycle's end, Renji cleansed the bowl and whisk once more_. _

His two guests chose to speak at that time.

"It sure had a lovely smell." Seiichi commented. "It tasted wonderful too. The mellow flavor of chrysanthemum harmonized with the flavor of the tea quite well."

Genichirou nodded solemnly in agreement. "Also, you used Shizuoka _matcha _instead of the usual _matcha _from Uji, correct? "

Truly, he had taken into consideration Uji _matcha's _intense flavor and and scent when he synthesized the new tea powder. It would overpower the mildness of the chrysanthemum blossoms. Thus, he added the milder Shizuoka _matcha _powder instead.

Renji smiled. "You are as sharp as ever. As expected of my lord."

"Though he is only sharp and observant when it comes to certain things…involving a certain someone." Seiichi added impishly.

The bluenet stood, skillfully dodging the glare projected in his direction as the counterattack for his innocuous tease. He traded places with the Tea Master.

Kneeling down before the tea utensils, Seiichi produced the bundle he carried in with him. Long, delicate fingers untied the knot of the dark cloth to reveal its contents-a can of _matcha _and a tea bowl.

Seiichi held up the tea bowl_, _showing off the precious item. "Look, Renji. I made this for you~"

Both Renji and Genichirou leaned forward from their seats to have a better look.

The pottery piece provoked familiarity. Renji immediately recognized it to be a descendant of the vase he used for his flower arrangements today-an additional tribute to the morning dew in green hue.

Setting down the tea vessel, Seiichi carefully uncapped the _matcha _can. At that instant, the Tea Master's sensitive nostrils caught the ethereal scent produced from the blossom that became the tea's unique companion in this session.

"Seiichi…"

The other only winked and smiled knowingly. "Don't get too excited, Renji…"

Then, proceeding in the same steps he had before him, Seiichi prepared his own special blend of _matcha,_ mixing his style of grace into his agile movements.

He presented the final mixture to his confidants.

Renji took the chance to examine the tea bowl more closely now, fingertips tracing every small flaw dotingly as someone passionately pledging himself to the perfection of imperfections. Only when satisfied did he sip from the bowl and pass it along.

Genichirou drank. Afterwards, he returned the bowl.

"Well?" The bluenet urged.

"You have raised your flowers well." Genichirou commented.

"Of course. It's what I do, you know." The mischief and pride in his voice blended together as agreeably as his _matcha _concoction.

"One could almost isolate the individual pink specks floating upon the tea green like the blossoms suspended on the pond surface." The Tea Master praised sincerely. "Yours is truly a masterpiece." (11)

"Okay. I'll resign from my position as Medicine Master and become a Tea Master instead." The other folded his arms at his chest, pretending to mull over the idea.

"Or you can resign from your position as Medicine Master and become a Pottery Master instead. You do seem to possess some talent in that area." Renji said with a straight face. And he might as well be a Jest Master, for there were times neither of his confidants could tell his banters from his serious statements.

The tea ceremony progressed further as both Seiichi and Genichirou stood to change places.

When the young warlord placed himself solemnly before the tea setup, he reached inside the collar of his dark kimono for the _matcha_ of his own creation.

The whisk his friend had taught him to use in the past became now a sword. He curled his fist around its hilt. He constructed his tea ceremony to be his battlefield, a place where he openly displayed his relentless might and sharp stealth.

With the gentleness contrasting greatly against his previous furious conduct, he placed the bowl containing his finished work before them. The black _chawan _he chose darkened the contents inside and the froth stuck together to form a scenery of a nighttime bamboo forest.

His two companions shared the drink.

"It's very Genichirou, ne?" Seiichi chuckled. "It's strong, like aged wine. So this is the character you've been hiding beneath your rigidity all this time."

"It seems you outdid yourself this time, my lord." Rare mischief goaded lightly at the corner of his lips.

"Aa. Perhaps." The subject of their tease crossed his arms, accepting the comments in a nonchalant manner. The few years of fitting into the role of warlord made him somewhat into a well-composed person. Yet, they all knew his childish awkwardness still lurked in the shadow of his character.

Genichirou pivoted himself around in his seat to face them. He bowed his gratitude.

They returned the gesture, formally ending the morning tea ceremony.

"And, as for my present to you…" His eyes darted to the _nijiriguchi_. "Akaya."

The compact door opened to his call. A figure crawled in.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here." Brushing himself off, the newcomer, a youth with messy, seaweed-like hair, presented himself proudly.

The warlord seemed unsatisfied with his reckless display. He frowned, brows knitting. "Mind your manners, Akaya."

Akaya looked to his master in defeat.

"Okay, okay. _Hai_, my name is Kirihara Akaya. I am honored to be at your service." He bowed half-heartedly in Renji's direction.

Slight displeasure wrinkled the space between his brows. "Genichirou…"

"He will be your bodyguard from now on." The warlord announced his decision the same way he resolved conferences with his retainers. His words were law. And laws were meant to be obeyed.

"I have no need for such." Only, he dared to challenge him.

His other friend cut in before Genichirou rebuked. "Of course you do, Renji. There is no way we're letting anything else happen to you."

He clutched down at the clothing material at his thighs to prevent his hand from wandering to the wound at his chest. Seiichi's words became a fingernail scraping at his scab. The prickling pain reminded him of that certain day's events.

…

_On the night of the young warlord's birthday, Sanada Genichirou had invited his two confidants to enjoy performances at the theater. Genichirou also held special reservations for front row seats._

_He lost himself in the dreamy court music, in the festive costumes, in the mesmerizing dances._

_That was why, he did not expect the following calamity._

_The spinning red figures on stage hypnotized him a bit. Perhaps his dizziness became apparent._

_A performer on stage glided in his direction, pulling a blade from the umbrella handle she held. She hurled herself at him, plunging the blade into his chest._

_Everything had been sudden, unannounced. Everyone froze the moment the performer stroke. No one knew such a thing would happen._

_Genichirou had been the first to recover, his warrior instincts possessing him. He drew his katana from the straps of his hakama, delivering two lightning-like consecutive slashes: one, carving a deep gash diagonally across the woman's torso, and another, vertically, breaking her mask into two perfect halves._

_The assassin's scream of agony awoke the audience from their daze. Everyone else awoke from their trance, and scattered about in a muddle._

_Seiichi sprang from his seat then too. He laid him down quickly, covering his wound with pressure directly from his hand. The Medicine Master yelled for their guards in disguise, his voice never before so desperate to his ears._

_He could no longer tell the color of his own essence of life from the bright, crimson costumes of the performers as they rushed off stage to crowd around them like the rest of the audience. As he stared up to the dark, wooden columns supporting the ceiling, he wondered how he was able to remain so calm when all he wanted to do was to scream, to bawl, at the pain, the intense, torturous pain that did not even allow him to take a single breath._

_He gasped unsuccessfully for air._

_The shadows of the columns he saw morphed into his deceased parents' figures. He thought he saw his gentle father take pity on him and cover his eyes with his hands, encouraging him to rest, to forget about the day's misfortune._

_He obeyed._

_Though the performer's high, shrill laughter disrupted him at first._

"_You murdered my beloved! I will make you feel the same pain!"_

_Unconsciousness drowned out her mad laughter and his companions' calls._

…

_It was not until he awoke again bandaged up and laying on his futon that he found the reason for the assassination attempt at the theater._

_At first, the Medicine Master waved him off half-heartedly, insisting he rest instead of placing importance in the trivial matter. Renji noticed dim detest turn the other's eyes into gelid pools of blue; the assassin must be suffering Seiichi's wrath in the domain of his mind. Yet, that still did not stop him from seeking the answer he desired. _

_Finally giving in, Seiichi sighed and began his explanation._

_He told him of the story Genichirou obtained after inquiring the other performers, one who had been a confidant of the female assassin. Everything started a year ago, when the young warlord had conquered a small neighboring province. The warlord there committed _seppuku_ after he failed to defend his own land. The performer who attacked him was one of the warlord's concubines who got picked up by the crew when they were traveling. She ended up living in shame all this time just so she could one day avenge her husband._

"_Well, I guess that's why they say, 'Hell has no fury like a woman scorned _(12)_.'" Seiichi shrugged. "But, as much as I hate to admit, that woman was pretty smart. She learned well from her loss. She understood physical pain is nothing compared to emotional pain. That was why she did not target Genichirou."_

_Seiichi looked down at him in regret._

"_That was why she chose you to be her victim."_

_Regret sank and mischief rose in his expression as he continued._

"_But then, it's really not your fault either. Genichirou should really be blamed for being such a love-sick fool. He just couldn't be any more obvious, stealing looks at you the whole time during the performance."_

_Before he could reply, the fusuma door _(13)_ opened with a frantic shove._

_The subject of their conversation stormed to his bedside, sinking down on the tatami floor across from Seiichi._

"_Renji, how do you feel?" His speech matched his entrance's urgency. _

_His eyebrows lifted in amusement to the other's extraneous edginess. "I'm fine, Genichirou."_

_Yet, his comforting words had little effect. The other's hands closed to tight fists pushing against his thighs. He hung his head like a child realizing his transgression and apologized for not being able to foresee the assassination._

_From the futon, Renji could see conflicting emotions twist his face. Regret. Shame. Anger. Pain._

_As he peered at the other's face, he wondered if any of the emotions he displayed was due to the fact that he had caused such a separation between wife and husband._

_The answer presented itself soon enough._

_He saw the other's eyes harden, almost becoming the ambers he compared them to timelessly. "There won't be a next time. I swear with my life."_

_In the other's eyes, he sees his figure to be the only reflection. It reminded him of an amber specimen he saw once at an antique shop where a single flower was preserved in the million-year-old hardened tree sap like a piece of memory. He wondered if he, like the flower, would become the memory that the other preserves in the depths of his amber-like eyes._

_Only time will be able to answer such a question._

…

Renji accepted Genichirou's present.

At the end of the little morning birthday celebration, they each returned to tend to their individual duties and responsibilities,

Night.

The cicadas' symphony ended, allowing the crickets to sing life to sleep with their serene serenade.

He sat at the edge of the veranda like he did in the morning, gazing out to the night garden. Renji was not alone this time, however. Genichirou came back; he provided him with company.

They watched the fireflies in the garden descend down on the leaves and flowers like fluorescent snowflakes.

He felt himself to be in the perfect moment for a poem recitation:

A cluster of summer trees,

A bit of the sea,

A pale evening moon. (14)

Renji trailed off after the last word, seemingly unsatisfied with such a poem. He muttered, "But where did the fireflies belong?"

His companion glanced at him, then turned back to the scenery before them. He answered his rhetorical question quietly. "They belong right here, right now."

Silence. They both understood the meaning of those words.

A moment later, Renji chose to speak again. "It has been two years."

"Aa."

It's been two years since both of their fathers passed on to the after world. A coincidence? Perhaps. Genichirou's father always commented on how the tea Renji's father made served as their connection. It was not only the tea he consumed; it was friendship, it was the essence of life, down to the very last drop. So, when his father passed, Genichirou's father became deprived of friendship, deprived of the essence of life. The deprivation the man experienced could only be resolved, only be cured, if he followed the connection he established in his life. That connection, in death.

Ever since then, on their birthdays, they would sit here to reminisce the past, their past, their childhood.

He could still see the shadows of their past selves chase one another in the garden.

Their initial meeting was like the first harvest of tea. The friendship they established became the _shincha _(15) processed in the tea harvest. Through the years, their friendship evolved into something else, like _shincha _left alone in storage in time loses its initial simple, one-dimensional flavor of youth.

As the tea developed to a richer, more complex flavor, their friendship also progressed. The time they spent in each other's company reading, tasting tea, playing _go_, playing _shogi,_ practicing calligraphy, taking long walks, touring the city wrapped their friendship in a tight cocoon of possibilities.

The result: a rainbow butterfly that every person chased in the garden of his life, but only few manage to capture. They captured it and hid it. No one should know about its existence. It would draw Envy's attention, and it hunted hungrily for rainbow butterflies.

Now, when Genichirou requested to see the progress of his wound, he sees not only the innocent concern from a friend. There was something more. He also witnessed the lust carefully hidden under embarrassment when he pulled back his yukata and revealed his skin to him.

The other grimaced as if the wound was inflicted upon him instead. "Does it hurt?"

His calloused fingertips dabbed at the scab sedulously.

He shook his head. "It is fine. If you do not have faith in the speed of my recovery, at least have faith in Seiichi's skills in healing."

Genichirou nodded firmly. "Aa."

Under the moonlight, the shadows of their childhood dissipated, becoming their shadows now, merging together in solid union.

* * *

**END NOTES:**

First, congratulations for making it this far~ I admire your determination.

Then, to the explanations...

(1) A sliding outer or inner door made of a latticed screen covered with white [rice] paper (source: Oxford Online dictionary).

(2) The place that Yanagi's sister is writing from is Kagoshima, a place where tea agriculture is important. It is the second largest producer of unprocessed tea after Shizuoka Prefecture. The cacao smell she described refers to the scent of the Kagoshima Oolong tea.

(3) - The traditional Japanese bathroom, with a wash area and one or more soaking tubs. Does not include the commode. (source: TV Tropes)

(4) - Iron pot or kettle. It is used to heat up the water used for the ceremony. (source: Japanese-tea-ceremony dot net)

(5) - An alcove or built-in recessed space for the artistic display of calligraphy and flower arrangements.

(6) - "Kunshi" translates to "a wise person", "a gentleman" or "a person of virtue." In Chinese, it refers to someone who is enthusiastic about learning and becoming knowledgeable. It is significant because it is said that the relationships that a _kunshi_ establishes in his lifetime is as mellow and mild as water. That is not necessarily a bad thing. Just like how water is the best thirst quencher, the friends that a _kunshi_ makes in his lifetime will be his best supporters during his times of need.

(7) A water basin which is found near the tea house. Guests use the _tsukubai_ and an oversized ladle to rinse their hands and mouths in a ritualistic manner, more for a sense of purification instead of actual physical cleanliness. The water is warmed in winter, cool in summer. (source: )

(8) The guests' door into the tea house. It is purposefully placed above ground, and is less than three feet tall. After taking off their shoes, all the guests have to crawl into the room, regardless of social standing, in a manner reminiscent of the fetal position. This accentuates the distinction between the tearoom and the outside world. (source: )

(9) - In China, the bamboo, lotus and chrysanthemum are the "_kunshi_" of plants.

(10) - Container usually made of lacquered or untreated wood; it contains the _matcha_ that will be used in the tea ceremony. (source: Japanese-tea-ceremony dot net)

(11) - The way the troika act in the tea room is how people who occupy the tea room should act. They comment and praise the small perfections of the tea ceremony. They place heavy importance in small talk. Those are what create the peace of such environment.

(12) - Originally from William Congreve's play, _The Mourning Bride_. The complete quote is: "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

(13) Opaque doors usually painted with scenery of nature such as mountains, forests or animals. (source: Wikipedia)

(14) Enshiu said the idea of the garden path was to be found in the following verses. (source: Kakuzo Okakura's "Book of Tea")

(15) - Literally, "new tea." It is the very first harvest of the year which is packaged and put up for immediate sale. (source: o-cha)

**Lesson of the day:** Perfection is an obsession. Writing and editing this chapter taught me this...the hard way.


	6. Lust

**NOTES:** Physical Akaya x Yanagi. Lascivious!Yanagi.

* * *

**Lust**

"I cannot give you what you want, Akaya."

"How do you know what I would ask for? And maybe, what I ask for might be simpler than you think, senpai."

Yanagi reached out to grasp the other's hand and laced their fingers together. Doing so it felt almost as if he held the other's warm, beating heart.

"This is what you want." Yet, almost instinctively acting upon his discomfort, he shook off the other's grip and freed his hand. "But, I'm not the one to provide that to you."

"Senpai..." The other wanted to protest, but Yanagi cut him off.

"Akaya, friends with benefits don't make the best lovers. If you wanted a serious, committed relationship, then you should not have began by bedding someone."

Then, all those years of growing up and gaining experience pulled his lips into a lascivious smile as he lied on his stomach and slid down to curl his hand around the other's erection instead. Yanagi dipped down, mouth hovering close to the tip as if whispering to the other's lust. 


	7. Logical Dominance

**NOTES:** Yukimura x Yanagi. Older piece. Awkward language and word use. Failed smut attempt.

* * *

**Logical Dominance  
**

The end of tennis practice.

An empty clubhouse.

It was a fitting setting for their private ritual.

He did not bother dressing after his light shower.

Instead, he cast the towel he used to dry himself to the floor.

He stood completely exposed before the other. Before his captain, his lover, there was not a part of his physical body that he hid away. He offered it in its entirety to the other.

His companion observed him through cerulean eyes sparked by intrigue.

"What is this, Renji? Are you tempting me?" The other inquired, amused.

"Yes. I am." He gave a straight answer to what he viewed as a serious inquiry. He exposed his intentions as freely as he exposed his physical body to the other.

Turning from his companion, he propped his forearms against the metal lockers' cold surface. He almost flinched from the contrast between the two temperatures. Almost.

He didn't, however, for he did not want the other to worry about him. A minor inconvenience like cold metal surfaces was not worth the other's concern. Seiichi had other things to worry about. Seiichi has their team to lead to the Nationals, and his instable health to monitor.

The light shuffling from behind him was the other's rejection of his own bath towel.

The other's additional warmth prevented his body from being chilled further by his cool environment. It no longer mattered that he was leaning against a cold surface or that the heat in the room was not on high enough.

Seiichi pressed his chest against his back. The heat of the other's lust waited patiently at the crack of his gluteals.

"You sure you don't want to turn around?"

"Aa." He confirmed. He preferred it that way.

That way, he had better control over himself than he did when Seiichi insisted on going in when they were face-to-face. That way, he could hold onto something else instead of holding onto the other. That way, he could control his desire to embrace the other as tightly as possible. That way, his usual logical influence would still be intact.

The other entered him after taking time to prepare the narrow muscle passage.

While he had already prepared himself mentally when Seiichi's delicate fingers roamed within him, he still could not restrict the tattered breaths from escaping his lips in the other's movements. He rested his forehead weakly upon his forearm.

The other knew that particular sensitive part of him too well after their numerous engagement of this activity.

Yet, he still questioned why repetition did not desensitize him. Is that particular spot engraved into his anatomy to serve as the permanent area of reactivity? Or, has the other stimulated it so much before that any sort of light stimulation now would successfully arouse him? And he thought in irony, even without embracing or touching the other during sex, he still could not escape the other's influences.

Skillful fingers on his member redirected his thoughts to reality.

His companion let out a heavy breath.

"Let's go...Together, Renji..."

His breaths lost their steadiness when the other stroke him to match the rhythm of his thrusts. With the last remains of control over himself, he was able to swallow the gasp that had already ventured to the tip of his tongue.

Then he felt his whole being shake as if imploding.

The other relied on him to support a partial amount of his weight as he attempted to catch his breath.

The final product of their climax became milky white serpents slithering down his abdomen and inner thighs.

They separated wordlessly. After having sex, they wouldn't talk to each other until after they've rearranged themselves completely. It was like a habit of some sort. Or maybe, they were both too occupied to talk.

Concerned, he still examined the other's state from an eye corner. After he had been assured of the other's recovery, he turned his focus back to his own disheveled state.

He will need a second shower. He will need to clean that sore area between his legs. It could get problematic if he fails to do a decent job. Maybe he should convince his partner to start using barrier from now on.

That was better for the both of them anyway.

The sound of the other's voice initiated the break in their habitual silence.

"You know, I'm really wondering why you always refuse to turn around, refuse to face me, when we're doing something so intimate." His companion's usual innocuous smile still graced his lips, but his eyes were the freezing arctic sea. "It makes me feel hideous and that this is the only way you can avoid looking at me."

With that, the other strode off to the shower room without looking back.

He knew the other was discontent.

And he knew, somehow, he was too.

What happens when you could not let go of yourself during the height of passion when you were supposed to?


End file.
